Sakamoto had walked through countless battlefields, faced death a thousand times, and emerged unscathed from the bloodiest, most dangerous assassinations known to man. But nothing—nothing—could have prepared him for this.

He had come here for one reason: snacks. Cheap, unhealthy, post-murder snacks. A quick stop, in and out. No problems. No distractions. Just a normal man in a black suit, covered in a questionable amount of bloodstains (he wiped most of it off, okay?), grabbing a bag of chips and an energy drink before heading home. Simple.

Then he saw you.

A small figure behind the counter, arms resting on the register, utterly unaware that the most dangerous assassin in the underground had just walked in. Then you—smiled.

And his entire world flipped upside down.

What was that? His heartbeat did something weird. His hands—steady even under enemy fire—suddenly fumbled as he pulled out his wallet. His brain, usually calculating at a speed faster than the average human could even comprehend, had just… stopped working.

“Sir?”

Your voice was soft, amused, and very much directed at him. He realized—far too late—that he had been staring at you for way too long.

“…Total,” he grunted, attempting to recover, placing his items on the counter with all the grace of a malfunctioning machine.

You rang him up, still smiling—seriously, stop that—and told him the price. He reached for his wallet. Missed. Reached again. Dropped it. Oh goddammit.

You giggled.

Sakamoto, legendary assassin, first-rank killer, feared by all—stood there, gripping his snack bag like it was a lifeline, brain short-circuiting as you bent down to retrieve his fallen wallet. This is it. This is how I die. "How much?" He muttered, fumbling around for his card.